The Spook's 13 Page 8

  This was a final defeat – the end of everything.

  The witches now had both parts of the Fiend in their possession. How long would it take to restore him?

  What had Mab said about the Wardstone?

  Creatures of the dark will be drawn to that spot – some to fight for the Fiend, others to oppose him. There’ll be witches of every type, abhumans and other dark entities. The outcome of that conflict will change the world.

  But for all her skill, she’d been wrong before and might be wrong again. It could happen here and now in Wales, far from the Wardstone.

  No doubt it would require some form of magical ritual. This could take days, hours, or might even be near completion now. The Fiend might come for me at any second. I might never even leave this ruined church.

  I looked about me.

  This was what some called a house of God. Was there a God? I wondered. A supreme creator? It seemed very unlikely to me. What was it that my master had once said . . .? That there had been times during his life as a spook when he thought he was facing the end, when it was all up with him. But at these moments he had sensed something invisible standing at his side, lending him strength. That was the nearest he had come to admitting to any kind of faith.

  Well, now I felt nothing; nothing at all – I was alone, with nobody to help or advise me.

  A memory suddenly came to me: my dad standing in the farmyard, stamping his feet, spattering my breeches with manure and mud, facing the Spook with both bravery and impatience – the latter because he was eager to get back to the milking; the former because most people thought spooks were scary. This was our first meeting with the Spook. An agreement had been reached, and John Gregory had given me a month’s trial as his apprentice. Little had any of us known that it would end like this.

  What was it that my dad had once said?

  Heaven helps those who help themselves.

  Well, I’d done my best. I’d tried to help myself. But I wasn’t getting any assistance in return. There was nothing to guide me, nobody to even offer advice. Entities from the dark banded together, sometimes in large numbers. And what did the light have? Just a few scattered spooks, helpless against the vast dark tide that would soon sweep all goodness aside.

  I stared through the window. It was dusk, and the light was beginning to fail, but I could see a village in the distance. Through the trees was a church spire; another church – either an empty shell like this one, or a place where deluded fools banded together to offer useless prayers that were never answered.

  I felt a surge of bitter anger, and stepped out of the ruins onto the rocky ground. Advancing a few steps so that I could see the grey slate rooftops below the spire, I spotted something else. It must be quite a large village, I thought – a small town, even; for I could now see another church spire just behind and to the right of the first.

  I went forward a few more paces. My heart was starting to beat a little faster as an understanding started to form inside my head. Then I retraced my steps, went back into the chapel and looked through the window.

  Once again I could see only one church spire.

  That was because the other, more distant, steeple, was hidden directly behind it.

  They were in perfect alignment.

  I spun through 180 degrees and looked back in the opposite direction through the window at the rear of the chapel. I could now see the tower, dark against the red sky above the setting sun.

  Now my heart was beating even faster as I turned towards the churches once more; towards the east, where the sun would rise tomorrow, filling the world with light.

  Four buildings stood in a straight line: the tower, the ruined chapel and two churches. I knew what that meant. Churches and ancient buildings were often erected in such alignments.

  They were ancient tracks; lines of power. Some called them ley lines.

  I was actually standing on a ley line and it ran directly through the dark tower.

  I had been given help after all; I had been shown what I could do.

  I had thought myself alone and without any support. But this ley line changed everything.

  I had a powerful ally, and the ley line would make it possible for him to reach me.

  I could summon the Spook’s boggart.

  BOGGARTS USED LEY lines to travel from one location to another – though they could not stray far from these ancient tracks that crisscrossed the County.

  But this tower was on a line.

  And so was the Spook’s house at Chipenden.

  The Spook’s boggart had left that house after the fire, its agreement with my master at an end. But I had been sent to search for it and issue a new contract. That I had done, and it had since successfully defended the house and garden against an attack by Romanian witches. What I had not told my master was that the new agreement had been made with me, not him, and that it had been necessary to offer the boggart more in return for its services.

  The boggart had scratched its demands on a piece of timber:

  My price is higher this time. You must give me more.

  I’d had to think quickly, but then I’d had a moment of inspiration.

  In addition to killing dark things that try to enter the garden, I’d said, I have another task for you. Sometimes when I hunt out creatures of the dark I find myself in extreme danger; then I will summon you to fight by my side. You will be able to slay my enemies and drink their blood! What is your name? I must know your name so that I can call.

  The boggart had thought for a long time before replying, and I’d wondered if it was reluctant to reveal its name to anyone. But at last it had scratched it on the wood:

  Kratch.

  When I am in danger, I will call your name three times! I had told it, and so the pact was made. I had never used its services since because I did not like to leave my master’s premises un protected. But this was an extreme situation: I felt certain that the Spook would agree with my decision to summon the boggart.

  It was then, still staring at the alignment of churches, that I reconsidered my fear of imminent attack by the Fiend. I started to think things through carefully, step by step, using the brain I’d been born with.

  Back on Pendle, the witches had summoned the Fiend, but they had only been able to accomplish this at a very special time, when dark magic was powerful; they had been forced to wait for Lammas, one of the four main witches’ sabbaths. Similarly, they couldn’t now simply put head and body together and reanimate him.

  Our original plans for the ritual with Alice could not go ahead until a certain time of year; they too would have to wait to perform their own ceremony.

  Mab was right after all.

  They would have to wait for Halloween!

  Circling the tower, I returned to my original position. Now I was free to choose the moment when I would attack.

  I was hungry and went to check my snares. I had set four, and all of them held rabbits. I retreated to my previous spot, out of sight of the tower, and lit a fire. I abandoned my resolve to follow my master’s advice and just eat cheese before facing the dark. My plans would require energy and physical strength. So I cooked and ate one of the rabbits.

  The moon was rising in the east, sending shafts of silver light down through the trees. The moment was right: I summoned the boggart.

  First I just whispered his name:

  ‘Kratch!’

  The air had been very still, but as I spoke, I heard a faint rustle; a breeze was stirring the fallen leaves. I called the name again – but this time much louder.

  ‘Kratch!!’

  Now the wind was whipping the branches, gaining in power. The last of the crisp autumn leaves fell to join the soggy brown mounds beneath the trees.

  The third time, I shouted out the name of the boggart at the top of my voice like a priest calling out to the faithful. I cared nothing for the fact that it might be heard in the tower. Now it was my enemies who would be afraid. My voice resonated through the air so th
at it seemed to ring like a great bell.

  ‘KRATCH!’

  In response, the wind surged in from the west, howling like a banshee and almost throwing me off my feet. I staggered back and covered my eyes with my arm to protect my face from the fragments of wood, mud and stones that hurtled between the trees.

  And then the gale dropped to nothing. There was silence, the air absolutely still.

  Had the boggart responded? I wondered. Was it here?

  The silence continued. I held my breath, listening hard.

  Still there was nothing.

  My heart began to sink into my boots. Had my summons failed?

  But then I heard it: the very lightest of treads. Something was approaching from the west, moving very stealthily towards me.

  I picked up one of the rabbits and cast it high in the air in the direction the sound was coming from.

  I heard the low thud of the carcass hitting the ground. Then came a wet rending noise, as if flesh were being torn apart, followed by the crunch of bones being crushed by powerful jaws.

  Now I heard footsteps approaching me again – louder now.

  Pad! Pad! Pad!

  Then I heard the swish of a big tail.

  I tossed over the second dead rabbit. It was devoured even more quickly.

  Again those heavy padding feet, coming towards where I waited; the approach of a confident and deadly creature who didn’t need to tread softly. Now only one rabbit remained, and that too I threw.

  Why had I given the rabbits to the boggart?

  Its reward for answering my summons would be the blood of my enemies, but the rabbits were a first offering to mark our first meeting under the new pact. I had also acted out of fear. I was afraid that the boggart might turn on me. This could well be the final approach of a predator stalking its prey, the moment before it sprang. Perhaps I was the next thing on the menu.

  I was scared, and my knees shook violently because we were no longer in the Spook’s house or garden; the old pact had endured for many years, made safe by custom and repetition. Now we were out in the open; this was a new and dangerous beginning.

  I was truly afraid.

  All at once I heard a deep purring and felt a furry animal rubbing against my legs. At this moment the boggart felt no bigger than a normal cat. This was the shape it assumed when carrying out its agreed domestic duties. Perhaps this was what suddenly made me feel brave . . .

  I should probably have just spoken to the boggart, telling it what I intended; instead, without thinking, I did something very dangerous – something that would have shocked John Gregory.

  He had always kept his distance from the creature.

  But I acted from pure instinct.

  I knelt down beside that cat-boggart and gently placed my hand upon its head. I could feel its fur, but the body was not warm like that of an animal. It was ice-cold.

  Then, very slowly, I stroked it from its head to the tip of its long tail.

  In response, the boggart stopped purring and became very still.

  Unable to help myself, one part of me watching in astonishment at what I was risking, I repeated the action; once more I stroked it from head to tail.

  This time the boggart gave a hiss; as I stroked it for the third time, I realized that its fur was standing up on end, its back arched.

  What a fool I’d been. What had come over me? What madness had driven me to do such a thing? I remembered how irascible the boggart could be. On my first morning in the Spook’s house I’d come down to breakfast too early and had soon received a blow to the back of the head. My master had warned me that it could have been worse.

  What would happen now? I needed the creature on my side.

  Gradually the boggart began to glow in the darkness until I could see it clearly. A livid scar ran across its left eye: it had been blinded defending us against a daemonic entity called the Bane. Its remaining eye was a vortex of orange fire.

  Now it seemed to be growing larger. My sense of danger grew too. Salt and iron could be effective against such creatures, but I had none in my pockets. I had left everything in my bag back in Chipenden. I had been pursuing witches, and my chosen weapons had been staff, sword and dagger.

  Suddenly the boggart struck me a terrible blow and I fell backwards. I was stunned, barely conscious, in pain. It was if a shock wave had passed straight through me.

  I was lying on my right side, my left hand stretched out in front of me. I sensed the boggart looming over me. Now it seemed much larger than I was.

  Then it struck my left hand. I felt its claws rake my skin. Pain seared into the flesh, running up my arm and into my chest; I feared my heart would stop.

  I was rigid with agony. My hand had surely been mangled, the flesh torn, the bones crushed. But I saw in the light of the moon that it was intact, but for a single scratch running across from my little finger to the base of my thumb. As I watched, dark blood welled up from the wound and began to trickle down towards my wrist.

  Why had the boggart turned on me? How could I ever hope to understand the motives of such an alien entity? It seemed likely that this was a reaction to my audacity in stroking it – though its response could have been much worse. My hand was still connected to my arm. Perhaps our pact had survived my recklessness?

  Suddenly I felt the boggart’s huge rough tongue begin to lick the blood from my hand. As it lapped, the pain receded from my body; I closed my eyes and fell into darkness.

  I was dragged back to consciousness by a deep rumbling vibration that seemed to shake the ground beneath me. I was lying on my back and there was a cold, heavy weight across my lower legs.

  I sat up very slowly and saw in the bright moonlight that the boggart had laid its huge head and paws across my body; the rumbling was its purr – a sound that in a normal cat indicated contentment. For a long time I didn’t dare move my legs, even though I had cramp: any movement that disturbed the boggart’s comfort might result in another violent reaction.

  At last I could stand it no longer. I moved my legs very slightly. Immediately the weight vanished and the boggart disappeared.

  I came to my feet and took a deep breath. Had it returned to Chipenden? I wondered. Had it abandoned me?

  But then I heard a voice, harsh and sibilant, right inside my head.

  I thirst! it hissed insistently. The rabbits welcomed me, thank you, but were just morsels. Now I need to quench my thirst with human blood. I kept my promise and answered your summons. Now you must provide me with what I need!

  My previous communications with the boggart had been very different: I had spoken and it had understood, but it had scratched its replies on wood. Why had things changed now? Was this another gift inherited from Mam?

  I reflected that it might well be connected with the fact that it had drunk my blood.

  What are we waiting for? demanded the voice of the boggart. No human has ever dared touch me before. You are brave! You are worthy to walk with me. Let us kill together!

  It seemed that it was happy with me after all. That was why it had been purring.

  ‘Yes, we’ll go together to the tower on the hill where my enemies are lodged!’ I replied. ‘Help me to defeat them and their blood is yours.’

  So saying, I picked up my staff and set off. The boggart was still invisible, but I could hear it padding at my side as we climbed the final hill. I halted just short of the narrow stone steps and drove my staff into the ground.

  ‘I’ll climb up to the tower and fight those who emerge,’ I told it. ‘Then I will retreat slowly, drawing them forth. While I live, do not pass beyond this staff! If I die or fall, then you may attack at will. But when my retreat brings me back below this staff and as many as possible are in the open, that is when I wish you to attack. At that moment you may kill all those both within and without the tower – with the exception of one person. The girl, Alice, whom you know, is not to be harmed. Do you understand and accept?’

  I knew that the boggart could enter
through the arrow slits and slay the witches; but in the confines of the tower they might be able to combine their magic and fight it off. That was why I needed to surprise them out in the open.

  Yes! hissed the boggart. It is a good plan. They will be easier to hunt and kill out in the open. My thirst will be slaked more rapidly!

  I looked up at the dark tower and the narrow steps that led to the door. With my right hand I drew the sword; with my left the dagger called Bone Cutter.

  I began to climb.

  THE STEEP STONE steps were barely wide enough for two to walk abreast, and that would serve me well. On either side was a sheer drop to the rocks below, so it would be difficult for my enemies to surround me and come at me from behind. Their superiority in numbers would count for little.

  I climbed at a steady pace, wondering if I was being watched. Were there eyes hidden behind the arrow slits? I did not expect to be fired upon – witches did not use bows themselves, though they sometimes employed servants to carry out tasks such as cooking . . . and opening the iron gate that I now approached (direct contact with iron was painful for a witch). They might have people to fight for them too – I just had to hope that none of these were bowmen.

  Halfway up the steps, I started to wonder if Alice was still in the balcony room. At the thought of her alone in there with the moustached stranger, my anger flared. I tried to banish it from my mind. If I were to succeed in what I was about to attempt I needed a clear head.

  I reached the door and paused before it, taking a deep breath to steady myself.

  Then I struck it hard, three times, with the hilt of my sword.

  The sound of each blow was loud enough to awaken the dead, echoing around from valley to hill again and again. But there was no response. Nothing seemed to be moving within that dark tower.

  So I struck the door three more times – harder than before.

  All was still and silent. What were the witches doing? Were they gathering behind the door, ready to attack? If so, they could not take me by surprise, for the door was heavy, and opened only slowly.